


in a green field in the sun

by hudders-and-hiddles (LeslieWrites)



Series: the most important thing [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball, Boyfriends, M/M, POV David Rose, Spring Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeslieWrites/pseuds/hudders-and-hiddles
Summary: They’ve spent practically every minute of the off-season together, in a blissful little bubble floating back and forth between Manhattan and Toronto and even Schitt’s Creek whenever they get the urge. But time is up and now David is going to have to share Patrick with the world again, so he kisses him a little longer to make up for missing it in advance.The night before Patrick leaves for spring training
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: the most important thing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169291
Comments: 65
Kudos: 209





	in a green field in the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Pitchers and catchers reported for the start of spring training today, so I thought it was a good time to revisit my beloved baseball boys. This is set before the epilogue of [the most important thing (isn't baseball)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016805/chapters/63259894) and definitely contains spoilers for that chapter, so you should read that first if for some reason you haven't.
> 
> Title is from A. Bartlett Giamatti's ["The Green Fields of the Mind."](https://mason.gmu.edu/~rmatz/giamatti.html) _I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun._

“But why would anyone want to go to Florida?” David asks as he watches Patrick repack his carry-on for the third time. What had started as neatly organized rows of his belongings is now just a big, jumbled heap of stuff on the mattress beside him, and it doesn’t look like it’s all going to fit any better than the first two times Patrick tried it.

“It’s not like I get to choose, David. That’s where spring training is, so that’s where I have to go.”[1]

“But _Florida_?” he repeats, still aggrieved. Whoever had made that decision clearly didn’t have players’—or their loving, supportive, vacation-minded boyfriends’—best interests at heart. “Wouldn’t it be better in, I don’t know, the Caymans? Costa Rica? Maui, if it _has_ to be in the U.S.?”

Patrick shakes his head as he tries to cram his portable phone charger into a side pocket that already contains three pairs of sunglasses and his deodorant. The taut line of his shoulders pulls a little tighter when it won’t quite fit. “Considering the only sights I’ll be seeing are some practice fields and the inside of my hotel room, we could be in New Jersey for all I care.”

“Well thank god that’s not the case.”

With another shove, Patrick finally gets the charger into the pocket, but he only tugs the zipper a few inches closed before it splits right back open. “Fuck!”

“Hey, it’s okay.” David catches his boyfriend by the wrist and pulls him down into his lap where he all but collapses into David’s arms. It takes some wriggling to get comfortable—all those workouts Patrick’s been doing lately have been great, but David appreciates them a little less when all 199 pounds of him are digging right into the meat of his left thigh. But they settle into it and he rubs a hand up and down Patrick’s back, enjoying the shift and flex of the muscles beneath his tee even as David tries to mollify whatever this mood is that Patrick’s worked himself into. “Better?”

“Sorry,” Patrick breathes into the collar of David’s sweater, sighing as David’s fingers find his shoulders and dig harder into the knots there. “I always get a little stressed before the start of the season, but I don’t know, it just seems worse this year, I guess.”

David’s first instinct is to apologize because obviously it must be his fault; he’s the thing that’s different this year, and it’s throwing off all of Patrick’s usual routine. But they’ve both been trying to work on not assuming things—on actually communicating—and so he makes himself actually ask. “Is it me?”

“No, David, it’s not you.” 

A hand finds his chin and tilts it down for a kiss, familiar and soft, and they both relax into it, taking their time while they still have it. They’ve spent practically every minute of the off-season together, in a blissful little bubble floating back and forth between Manhattan and Toronto and even Schitt’s Creek whenever they get the urge. But time is up and now David is going to have to share Patrick with the world again, so he kisses him a little longer to make up for missing it in advance.

“I’m afraid,” Patrick whispers when they finally manage to pull themselves apart.

David swallows hard before he asks, his voice carefully steady, “Afraid of what?”

Patrick’s fingers find his, tracing the outline of the four silver rings banded across them. David isn’t sure which of them it’s supposed to soothe, but it helps either way. “I know it’s illogical, but the last time I had to leave, we…” 

“I know,” David says, holding him closer and pressing a kiss to his temple. He can’t say that the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, too. Even though what happened that day in Schitt’s Creek ultimately had very little to do with Patrick leaving for Toronto, the specter of it still looms large. Over them both, it seems. “It’s going to be okay.” He leans back far enough to look into Patrick’s big, beautiful brown eyes and draws up all the confidence he can muster. “We’re going to be okay.”

He doesn’t know how other people do this, how other players’ partners manage to send them off each season after spending four solid months in each other’s pockets. Or maybe they’re happy to do it—it’s just baseball after all, it’s not like he’s sending Patrick off to war. But knowing that the next seven months, eight if they’re lucky, will be split between workouts and night games and road trips and double-headers, phone calls and texts and maybe a few nights every other week where they actually get to crawl into bed and fall asleep together, without any assurance that it’s going to be worth it, that the Jays are gonna make the postseason again, that the two of them are going to survive the distance and the stress, it’s fucking terrifying. Especially since it starts with Patrick gone for six weeks straight, down in the ass end of fucking Florida.

But he has to believe that they’re going to be okay because even if he’s scared out of his god damn mind, what other choice does he have?

“We’re going to be okay,” he says again, punctuating it with a kiss that he fills with all the conviction he has. Patrick takes what he gives and turns it into more, shifting to straddle him, hands cupping David’s face, as they both pour all the things they aren’t saying into the press of their lips.

It takes a while, for them to say it all, and some of their clothes get lost in the process, but David doesn’t mind one bit.

Sprawled across him after, running his fingers through David’s chest hair, Patrick mumbles into his skin, “I think the guys with wives have it easier.”

David has to laugh, his body shaking against Patrick’s. “If this is your way of telling me you’re not actually gay, you probably should have brought that up before you blew me.”

He feels rather than sees Patrick’s grin. “Definitely still gay.” His hand finds David’s, dragging it up onto his stomach so that he can trace along the edges of his rings again. “They have a guarantee though.”

Still coming down from a rather excellent orgasm, David can’t quite follow what Patrick means. “Guarantee of what?”

Patrick turns to look at him, his chin digging uncomfortably into David’s sternum, his earnestness digging uncomfortably into David’s walls. “A future.”

There are all kinds of things wrong with that statement, starting with the fact that nothing in life is ever a guarantee, but Patrick’s talking about futures and spouses, and his fingers are still wrapped around David’s rings, and he’s here, right now, in their apartment and this life they share, not 1300 miles away in a mosquito-riddled wasteland where, yes, he might as well be in New Jersey or on another fucking planet or somewhere else where David can’t or won’t be able to join him, where he won’t get to see him or kiss him or rub his legs when he gets cramps or hang all over him while he cooks breakfast or watch the way his hands still reach for David even in the middle of a fight or just look across the room and feel his own breath catch knowing that he loves and is loved by this incredible, gorgeous, talented, kind, funny, generous, perfectly imperfect masterpiece of a human being. And so instead of any of the protests that David could make about that line of thinking, what comes out of his mouth instead is, “Marry me.”

“What?”

Patrick scrambles to sit up, and David does, too, as surprised at himself as Patrick appears to be. But even though his heart is hammering in his chest, it’s just pounding more and more certainty into his veins. “Marry me,” he says again. “Tomorrow. Before your flight.” 

It’s not a guarantee, David knows that. But it’s a choice. It’s a choice to make it work, a choice to hold on, when it’s easy and especially when it’s hard. And it’s one he’s promising to make again and again and again.

“You’re serious.” Patrick’s wide eyes search his face, and David lets him see all the sincerity he possesses. He wants this, and he wants Patrick to want it, too. 

“I am.” But he’s still David Rose, and he still has trouble letting himself leap without a safety net, so he adds, “We can wait. If you want. We can wait til after you win the ser—”

“No!” Patrick’s hands flail toward David's mouth, superstitious as always. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Til November,” he corrects, and Patrick gives him a look that says he can still hear the postseason assumptions he’s leaving unsaid. David just shrugs. “I’ll wait as long as you want. But tomorrow’s good, too.”

It takes a minute for Patrick to process that, and David forces himself to keep taking slow, steady breaths through the agonizing wait. And then a smile spreads over Patrick’s face, gradually, then all at once, big and goofy and bright, and he laughs and looks at David like he’s a little bit magic as he says, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

Patrick wraps him up and drags him back down into their bed, covering him with messy, happy kisses. There are calls to make and probably favors to cash in if they’re truly going to make this happen in less than 18 hours, but for now David kisses his fiancé’s smiling mouth and lets himself enjoy his engagement for a few minutes first. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1 All MLB teams host spring training in either Florida or Arizona, with teams in the eastern half of the US and Canada typically going to Florida and the western half to Arizona (there are a few exceptions). The Blue Jays specifically hold theirs in Dunedin, Florida. [▲]
> 
> *
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as [wild-aloof-rebel](http://wild-aloof-rebel.tumblr.com) (my Schitt's Creek blog) or [hudders-and-hiddles](http://hudders-and-hiddles.tumblr.com) (my main).


End file.
